The Secret Kiss of Darkness by Christina Courtenay Page B

very quiet. ‘Nothing in 1780 … nor ’81, strange. I usually find babies within the first two years of marriage. Oh, hang on, look.’
    Kayla peered at the screen and read, ‘
Baptised, April 30th, 1782, Wesley John son of Sir John Marcombe, Bt. (born March 23rd).
No mention of his wife. I wonder why?’
    ‘Their names weren’t always written down, it was the father who was important. Oh, and look, there’s a page missing here so we don’t know if mother and child survived. I hate when that happens!’
    There appeared to be no other children either before or after this date, although they checked the baptismal register up to and including the year 1810, by which time the son called Wesley John was married and had children of his own.
    ‘So does that help you?’ Jessie asked.
    ‘Yes, it was exactly what I needed. I don’t know how to thank you enough, you’ve been great.’
    ‘Don’t worry about it, I enjoyed myself. Seriously, it’s always satisfying when you find what you’re looking for and believe me, that’s not usually the case. You see what I mean now about the thrill of the chase?’ Jessie’s violet-blue eyes were shining with excitement.
    Kayla nodded, but thought to herself that Jessie had no idea of the added spice involved in this particular chase.

Chapter Ten
    As Jago soon discovered, Mr Gainsborough was an easy enough man to please. Plenty of good wine and a willing serving wench and the man was happiness personified. Long after his nephew had retired, Mr Gainsborough entertained Jago’s other customers with his witty comments, animated conversation and musical abilities. Having caught sight of a fiddle, he played a number of tunes, and the taproom was a lively, happy place that evening.
    Jago found the time to sit with his guest for a while.
    ‘Ah, Mr Kerswell. This is a very snug little inn you have here. Very nice indeed.’
    ‘Thank you kindly. Most gentlemen find it beneath their expectations.’ Jago grinned to show he didn’t care about such men or their opinions.
    ‘Bah! Gentlemen. There is only one good thing about them – their purse. Do you know,’ Mr Gainsborough leaned closer to whisper confidentially in the manner of someone who has drunk slightly more than is advisable, ‘if it were not for the fact that I must needs earn some money and my wife won’t stop her infernal nagging, I wouldn’t paint another portrait. Not ever.’
    ‘You paint a lot of them then, Mr Gainsborough?’
    ‘Oh, yes. The wretched face business is what keeps the wolf from my door. If I had a choice, I would spend all my time painting landscapes. To me, there is nothing more wonderful than such tranquil, rural scenes – it’s what life is all about.’
    ‘I agree, sir.’
    ‘Mind you, there are the occasional faces which are worth capturing in paint. Take the lady we met with this morning, for instance. Now that is what real grace and beauty looks like. I would like to do a portrait of her, indeed I would.’
    ‘Why don’t you stay for a few days then, at my expense of course, and paint the lady? I’m sure she would be agreeable.’ And I would love to have a likeness of her, Jago added silently to himself. ‘No doubt she’ll pay you well for your efforts too. Her husband is well to do. In fact, I’m sure she could persuade him to buy some of your landscapes and seascapes too.’
    ‘Excellent idea, dear fellow. I shall tell my nephew in the morning.’ Mr Gainsborough’s decision made with admirable speed, he continued with the evening’s entertainment.
    Eliza proved uncommonly stubborn, however, and refused to have her portrait done unless Mr Gainsborough promised to do one of Jago as well. He grudgingly agreed and set up his easel near the cove where they had first met.
    ‘Why do you wish to paint me here, Mr Gainsborough? Would it not be more convenient indoors?’ Eliza asked him.
    ‘No, dear lady. You see, your colouring blends in perfectly with the natural